


Kiss It Better

by KannaOphelia



Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, No beta we fall like Crowley, One-Shot, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Reconciliation, They love each other so much, foot kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: Might as well admit it all. Well, not all. Probably not the right moment forI love you, I've always loved you, you took my world when you walked away, my reason for not even caring that I've been damned, I've been stalking you like the creepy demon I'm supposed to be ever since, do you know you're beautiful?"I thought you were saying we were nothing to each other, and I said things I didn't mean. I'm sorry, all right?"There was a long moment in which Crowley stared at his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for Aziraphale to say something. Counting breaths. Six breaths. Seven, eight..."I have first aid supplies in the bookshop. Come along now, don't dawdle, dear boy.""Yeah. Yeah, right. Fine. If you like."* * *The obligatory post-Church bombing scene every Good Omens author must write. With foot-kissing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559824
Comments: 63
Kudos: 406





	Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashfae/gifts).



> The promised foot-kissing story, my dear Ashfae! 
> 
> Right until I posted, this was called Foot. Romance, I'm good at it.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Crowley opened the passenger door of his car like a gentleman, doing his best not to wince with every movement of his feet against the ground. There had been other times, the miracle of comfort of chain-suspended carriages in Rome, coaches and litters in other times and places, luring Aziraphale in for a few moment's private chat. But there had been servants or slaves then to open doors and help that nice man Aziraphale to his seat. There was something strangely intimate in opening the door himself, inviting Aziraphale into his space.

Of course, there had never been a vehicle like the Bentley.

Aziraphale looked doubtfully at the machine. Crowley prayed for his approval. The Bentley was black and charcoal, sleek and opulent, just a little demonic. He knew Aziraphale had no objection to innovations in transport in general. Trains and automobiles were far more comfortable than most carriages, and Crowley knew how much Aziraphale liked his comforts. He wouldn't miss being jolted around, and making highwaymen understand the errors of their ways had always interfered inconveniently with his peaceful reading. But these days, with the terror of aeroplanes in the sky above them raining down death and destruction, the humans huddled in the dark...

Humans had killed each other ever since Eve's triplets had quarrelled, but there was something about this wholesale rain of death that was worse. It was too detached, too impersonal. Too much like angels in the sky, raining down death.

"I'm sure there are rules against driving at night," Aziraphale said, clearly battling with his moral concerns.

"I'll keep my lights off." He held the door open. Don't expect. Don't hope. He looked at you for a moment back then like you were a hero sweeping him out of the way of the dragon, and you never thought he'd look at you like that again. It's more than enough. You came for him, he protected you with a miracle in return, and he _followed you to the car_. Even if he doesn't get in, it's enough, it has to be. The door is open again. Saunter into the bookshop in a week or two, mention a favour you could do each other. Bathe in his sunlight once more, and not mention anything that will cause him to storm off.

It was enough. Important not to push.

But there was the familiar tiny relaxation of Aziraphale's facial muscles, the darting away of his gaze, the slightly bitten lip of a tempted Principality. A precious and much-missed sight. "I suppose it couldn't do much harm. And it's been a very long night."

"That's right." Crowley still had his final touch of a temptation to deliver. "We don't want to hang around here, if our sides get curious as to why angelic and demonic miracles happened in rapid succession in the same place."

"Heavens, no." That did it. Aziraphale slid into his seat, and Crowley concentrated on slinking, not skipping, around to his side. "Although I suppose we could claim there had been a battle between us. With unfortunate human casualties," he added, with a distinct lack of displeasure that his friends from before were currently signing their initial paperwork in Hell. A few decades of queuing and filling in paperwork, and Dagon might eventually allow them to check in, for all the good it would do them.

"Don't talk about Heaven too much in my car. She doesn't like it." Crowley patted the dashboard lovingly.

" _It_ certainly seems an infernal contraption."

"Naturally." Crowley took advantage of his dark glasses and ability to see at night to check Aziraphale out. The man was sitting primly, hands folded, but there was something different about him. A stunned look. It had been a difficult night, poor poppet, and he had nearly been humiliated and lost his precious books. No wonder he was a bit under the weather.

Crowley allowed himself a fraction of a moment to admit to himself he was torn between cooing _poor poppet_ and patting his hand and flinging himself over the gearshift to kiss him out of general ebullience, and let his insouciant manner snap back into place. "Home, James, and don't spare the horses," he told the car, and she peeled off from the curb. Without requiring him to put his foot on either the clutch or the accelerator, which was a relief, as the pain was getting worse by the second.

" _Crowley._ Slow down! You must be going nearly thirty miles an hour!"

"Harder to hit a moving target, angel. Don't want any more suspicious miracles."

Aziraphale hummed under his breath and said nothing more, although his hands gripped the door until they pulled up outside. They sat in silence for a moment, while Crowley wondered if he should go around and open the car door for him, or if that would all be a bit much. He felt like he was only partly constrained by this stupid human body, that he would break out wings or hiss in a moment. Aziraphale. Beside him. In his car. Aziraphale had _bickered_ , had rolled and fluttered his eyes, had smiled, had thanked him, had looked at him like a hero. Crowley had timed it perfectly. All those weeks of anxiety, trying to restrain himself from intervening until the perfect moment to swagger in like a film hero, the pain in his feet, all worth it. Aziraphale was back, warm and close and _fond_.

At least, he'd thought so. But there had been the dazed look, and now Aziraphale was frowning at him.

"What?"

"Like hot sand at the beach. Mildly annoying."

"Yeah."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "You're sweating."

Crowley tried out several potential answers in his head, mostly to do with being confined in a small place with a beautiful being who really did suit current fashion, but it was no use pushing his luck. "A bit. Don't worry about it."

"Come right inside now and let me take a look at your feet."

 _Bless_. His heart jumped like a cat that had been unexpectedly presented with a cucumber.

"You're certain?"

Aziraphale clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You can't expect me to send you home like that."

Now, _that_ was promising. If Crowley milked it enough... and oh, he was pathetic. But it had been years with the sunlight missing from the world, years with no one who even nearly understood him, no one to confide in and quarrel with and get pleasantly drunk with, no one who remembered and _understood_ , no one who was currently looking at him with sternness that was caused by actually _caring_ about him, wanting to keep him safe, thinking he was important...

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I won't force you, of course," Aziraphale said, the soft lines of his face hardening. "It has been pleasant to make your acquaintance again."

He could leave it like that, Aziraphale would flounce out, and Crowley would find another way back in eventually. He would. He already had, hadn't he? Without sacrificing his dignity. Much.

"I'm sorry for not realising why you said no," he said, tightly. "I thought..." Might as well admit it all. Well, not all. Probably not the right moment for _I love you, I've always loved you, you took my world when you walked away, my reason for not even caring that I've been damned, I've been stalking you like the creepy demon I'm supposed to be ever since, do you know you're beautiful?_ "I realised afterwards you were trying to keep me safe. I thought you were saying we were nothing to each other, and I said things I didn't mean. I'm sorry, all right?"

There was a long moment in which Crowley stared at his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for Aziraphale to say something. Counting breaths. Telling himself Aziraphale wouldn't mean it, not the way he had looked at him, not with the concern for his feet. Six breaths. Seven, eight...

"I have first aid supplies in the bookshop. Humans need an explanation for feeling better. Come along now, don't dawdle, dear boy."

"Yeah. Yeah, right. Fine. If you like." He didn't even feel the blisters as he floated after Aziraphale into the bookshop.

Entering the bookshop was the same as always, like sliding out of cold earth into a hot bath, like he imagined sliding into an embrace would be like—Aziraphale's embrace, at least, that Crowley knew at his very core would be warm and buoyant. It should burn like the floor of a church, an angelic lair, but this was _Aziraphale_ and it welcomed him in. His strange angel who had welcomed the First Tempter in Eden, who should have been repellent to his demonic nature. He had given up wondering long ago why and just accepted that the hungry ache in his heart came closest to being sated in Aziraphale's beaming presence.

Not that Aziraphale was beaming now. He was fretful, brow furrowed, hands active. "Take a seat, take off your shoes and I'll see what I can do."

"Don't bless my feet," Crowley warned, reaching to untie his laces. "Might actually melt."

"Of course not," Aziraphale sniffed. "Let me go upstairs and get my things."

 _Take me upstairs with you,_ Crowley thought, light-headed. He was distracted by easing off his socks and seeing what a mess his feet truly were in. Fuck. He threw off his glasses to examine them closer, wincing at the blisters. If his feet didn't heal, he'd have a job explaining the wear and tear to the Corporations Department next time he needed a new chassis. Tempting a priest? Hopefully those Nazi idiots wouldn't describe him in a way anyone Down There would recognise.

He remembered that look Aziraphale had given him in the ruins and grinned despite his fear. Worth it.

"Well, you look cheerful." Aziraphale set a glass of Scotch in front of Crowley, and he reached for it. "Wait." Aziraphale sprinkled a powder in the drink. "It will help with the pain."

"Aren't you supposed to take that in water?"

"Are you complaining? I can change it to water if you like," Aziraphale threatened. Crowley gulped it down before he could act on it, relishing the entirely different burn in his throat. "Now, let's get it cleaned." He trotted off, and came back with a basin of water, soft bandages and towels over his arm. "We need to be careful of infection. I'm assuming you can't heal holy wounds yourself."

"Would've already if I could." Crowley found himself embarrassed by the thought of Aziraphale seeing the ugly blisters, not to mention the slight hint of scales where he should have toenails. "Sorry about this."

Aziraphale humphed at him, and knelt down. "Oh, Crowley." His voice shook a little. "Well, the blisters are a good sign, I suppose. Should help protect you from infection. I just need to get you clean. I'll be careful."

He moved as gently as feathered wings, dabbing at the wounds on one foot, drying each little area immediately, not with harsh towels but with the gauze bandages. Crowley leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking of times and places when washing someone's feet was the ultimate sign of reverence. It was probably blasphemous for an unfallen angel to kneel and wash a demon's feet. Even his shrivelled soul felt it was all wrong for someone as pure and good as Aziraphale to kneel for him, as if it was post-Armageddon revenge and submission. Any demon bastard who tried to make Aziraphale kneel would feel Crowley's wrath. He should stop it.

Crowley was intensely aware that no one, ever, had tended to him gently and caringly. It was worth the pain. Aziraphale was just grateful, of course, but he did care about Crowley personally. He did. He was his best friend...

Aziraphale moved to the next foot. "Am I hurting you, dear?"

The answer was _yes_. Crowley shaped the word _no._

"Liar," Aziraphale said, sounding slightly choked. He held Crowley's foot in gentle hands, but the movements stopped. Well, perhaps he had realised this was wrong. Crowley couldn't blame him. He opened his eyes...

...and saw the expression of Aziraphale's face as he stared at Crowley's foot.

Perhaps Crowley stopped time. He wasn't sure. He breathed on into the stillness, as Aziraphale sat motionless, his own chest rising and falling.

Then the angel bent his head and kissed the demon's foot, on unscarred skin.

"K—" Crowley got as far as that before his throat closed up. He made an unintelligible sound, and tried again, until he managed to croak, "Kissing it better, angel? Like I'm a kid?"

"You acted like it was _nothing_. You were making jokes. I never realised..."

"No sense worrying you."

"I never realised," Aziraphale said, softly, and pressed his lips there again. "You did that for me. To save me. And my books. Even though we'd quarrelled."

Fuck. Maybe it was the pain, or the headache powder, or the Scotch, or how much he had missed him, or the fact that Aziraphale had _kissed_ him, had just kissed his bloody feet, was looking up at him now as if he was fucking _wonderful_ , but thousands of years of self-control fell away and he croaked again, "Do more than that for you." And because Aziraphale was looking at him fully and unshielded, no glancing away or fluttering lashes to dissemble, a bright burning gaze that seemed to reflect back his own feelings, "Do anything for you."

Aziraphale rose up on his heels as if he couldn't stay down, and Crowley gently cupped his cheeks, drew him up further, closer. He couldn't the gap, it wasn't his place. His angel did it for him, leaned in the last inch, shakily brushed his lips against his. _At last, at last,_ Crowley thought, but didn't let himself give in to the sudden crash of desire, didn't take the chance to crush him close and devour his mouth and drag him into his lap and _take_ him. He returned the kiss as gently as Aziraphale had handled his feet, straining every nerve to notice everything, everything, the way plump cheeks felt in his hands, every texture of the lips against his, the soft sound Aziraphale made as their lips barely parted and then pressed again at a slightly different angle.

All the kisses they had missed. Kisses of friendship, of peace, of love... Oh, Aziraphale had to feel the love, he must. Lust, too, rearing up like a snake at their closeness, at the knowledge of that longed-for body so _close_. He kept a firm hold on it, because Aziraphale needed to know he wasn't _just_ a demon, that he loved him, loved him, loved him so fucking much, wanted him so much he hurt but loved him most of all.

When they stopped, at last, Crowley looked into Aziraphale's face and saw raw love and pain. Crowley buried his face in the side of Aziraphale's neck, so warm and so _soft_. And he was a demon, he could sense lust, could feel the desire just as easily as if they were pressed together where he could feel the physical evidence instead of delicately apart, could sense that he could take this and take _Aziraphale_ and pick up the consequences in the morning. Aziraphale would not resist, he would _want_ it, the knowledge of that was pounding in his ears. Aziraphale would be _his._

Until it was done and the fear came.

"That's why you wanted the holy water." Aziraphale's voice was muffled by Crowley's hair. He didn't seem bothered by the Bryl cream.

"Not going to court trouble, angel, but if it came down to it, yeah, I'd protect you. But I don't fancy the consequences for eternity."

"You court trouble all the time."

"Yeah. Nothing but trouble." His face was hidden and Aziraphale was holding him, so he could say, "Fell in love with an angel who keeps getting in trouble, what else can I do?"

" _Stay safe_ , darling. You're not the only one."

He should have taken the _darling_ , it should have been enough, but he was a demon, he was greedy by nature. "You love me too?"

"Yes. But..."

He clutched Aziraphale's shoulders tight, feeling him slipping away already, even with the pounding bliss of _He loves me, he loves me, he loves me._ "Love's not a sin, angel. S'posed to love people. It's me who's not. Kissing's not a sin, either. People kiss all the time, no trouble. Friends, brothers. eDidn't even use tongue." Oh, great, that was romantic small talk under pressure, that was.

"And if that's all it can ever be?" Aziraphale's voice was a wavering whisper. "If I can't even kiss you again?"

It hurt, and later there would be time and space to really feel the pain, but he focused on what mattered. "That's more than I ever, ever hoped for. That's a bloody miracle."

"You are a _terrible_ demon."

"I know. Have to do something really big to make up for it."

"Or at least claim credit."

"Yeah, that'll do."

"I love you." And _fuck_ , Aziraphale had said it, had said it out loud, his brave beautiful angel, and if it was possible to rise again through sheer love and happiness then Gabriel was going to be really pissed off about his new employee in a few minutes. Might almost be worth it to see his face.

No trumpets, no miracles, his wings still felt like shadows hidden behind him, but Aziraphale _loved_ him, so it wasn't like anything else mattered.

"Love you so much," he muttered into Aziraphale's neck. "And, um. Ah. If it's just going to be kissing maybe I should go back to my place for a bit. Er."

Aziraphale laughed a bit shakily and drew back. "Let me bandage your feet first. You need the cushioning. Or..."

Inspiration hit them both. "Snakes don't have feet," they said, not exactly in synchronisation, their syllables stumbling over each other's. Alike, but not the same.

They started to laugh, stupidly. "Think you can cope with a pet snake around the place for a bit? Your customers might not like it."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale gave a smile of brittle satisfaction. "What a shame."

Being a snake always felt more _demonic_ , somehow, which is why he was afraid to assume the form too often. Wanted to keep the pretty human body, the one Aziraphale looked at with admiration. Was afraid, a bit, of just how _evil_ he felt as a snake, because form shaped nature, and he feared losing himself, the thing that had been _him_ before the fall and was still now, that was independent of angel or demon and was just himself. Crowley took a deep breath, held onto himself, and changed.

The pain receded almost immediately. He clamped down on the instincts that told him here was the Enemy, he must _strike_ at the Principality in front of him, who was too bright, too dangerous...

"Is that better?" Aziraphale drew two fingers down Crowley's spine, just behind his head, and of course he would never, ever, ever hurt Aziraphale. He was Crowley, and Crowley would do anything for Aziraphale. He made himself small enough to flow up him and curl around him, and settle in close. "Oh, you dear thing." And then, as if responding to an unasked question, "Yes, I'm happy. More than I have ever been even in Heaven, sin though it might be to admit it. Are you?"

" _Yesssss,_ " he hissed, and knew it was true. Funny, that. A demon. Happy. But there had been other happinesses, not as intense as this.

And maybe it was the shred of optimism that had carried him through his Fall, and Hell, and all the rest of it, but Crowley was suddenly sure that it would all work out. One day, Aziraphale would be all his in every way, and they would be safe.

Aziraphale was in love with him. After that, any other miracle was going to be trivial.

" _Love_ you," he said, and heard the impossible answer:

"Love you too."


End file.
